I first saw Oaxaca at night. That’s how I generally picture it in my memory—in the dark. Arriving after a 12-hour, tediously bumpy bus journey from Mexico City, we crested the highway in the mountains above town. I peered out, surprised to see the weird shapes of the organ pipe cactus and elephant’s foot palms in dim silhouette against the sky. Soon, Oaxaca City glowed down below, a grid of orange sodium-vapor light. As we rolled
into town, the dingy outskirts gave way to the brightly colored flat fronts of colonial houses that concealed courtyards behind them. Though I’ve
returned several times since that visit 15 years ago, Oaxaca still seems like a place that defends its secrets from outsiders.

Tinged by shadows and those orange lights, the streets of this southern Mexican city seem eerily empty at night—that is, until you turn a corner and run smack into one of Oaxaca’s many wedding parades, featuring a crowd of monos de calenda (giant dancing papier-mâché puppets dressed to resemble the bride, groom, and family members), which, in their way, are a bit eerie themselves. I recall seeing a religious parade one
November that must have been celebrating something important, as the whole town appeared to be crowded outside the main cathedral. Jesus,
portrayed by a bored teenager wearing a white loincloth, stood on a small platform, his arms tied loosely to the cross by fabric. While he waited for
the festival to start, a woman (his mother?) came up and released his arms in order to hand him a Big Mac and a Coke, which he consumed just in
time to be hoisted back up as the tinny oompahpah of the brass band signaled the launch of the procession. In a few minutes, they were gone and
I had the streets to myself again.

At Itanoní Tortillería y Antojería, pan de elote, a traditional sweet-corn dessert, is part cornbread
and part flan.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

A collection of cactus varieties at the Jardín Etnobotánico de Oaxaca.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

Hot-pink bougainvillea surrounds the pool at the Casa Oaxaca Hotel.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

Most consider the ice cream at the Museo de Nieves Manolo the city’s best.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

The Zandunga café features cuisine from the Oaxacan isthmus of Tehuantepec.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

Zapotecan textiles at Bulmaro Perez Mendoza, in
Teotitlán del Valle.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

Maices criollos (native corn varieties) from the local market.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

Flower sellers at the bustling tianguis, or Sunday
market, in the nearby village of Tlacolula de Matamoros.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

A quiet courtyard garden at La Quinta Real Oaxaca, originally the Convent of Santa Catalina de Siena, constructed in 1576.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

Ground native corn is used to create masa-based
appetizers and street food, including tlayudas and tetelas topped or filled with refried beans and cheese at Itanoní Tortillería y Antojería.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

An astonishing botanical garden of native Oaxacan
plants is hidden behind the walls of the impressive Santo Domingo Church, several blocks north of Oaxaca’s zócalo, or main square.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

In the nearby village of Teotitlán del Valle, Bulmaro Pérez Mendoza, a ninth-generation artisan known internationally for his colorful work, combines traditional techniques and modern influences.

Photo by Marcus Nilsson

Besides its festivals and nocturnal parades, the state of Oaxaca is best known for such archaeological wonders as the Zapotecan city of Monte
Albán, as well as its Pacific Coast beaches and its intensely colorful weaving and handicrafts. And then, of course, there is the sophistication
of its cooking. In these isolated mountain valleys, 16 indigenous ethnic groups draw on a wealth of native plants, including chepiche, pitiona, and
hoja santa, to create one of the world’s great idiosyncratic cuisines. Meat picadillo, spiced with cloves, cinnamon, vinegar, almonds, and raisins,
enhances the bright flavors of chiles rellenos. You’ll find Oaxaca’s famous moles, the complex spicy sauces of Mexican kitchens, all over the country, but the best originate here: amarillo mole, with guajillo chilies; bittersweet-chocolate mole negro; coloradito, sweetened with plantain; rojo, pungent with dried red chilies; chichilo, made from a base of beef broth; verde, with parsley and serranos; and finally anchamantel, a pungent mix of anchos, sweet plantain, and pineapple. Teosinte, the ancient precursor of our modern corn, has been grown for thousands of years in these valleys (6,000-year-old cobs were found in a cave near Oaxaca City). At the Jardín Etnobotánico de Oaxaca, a beautifully designed botanical garden behind the cathedral, I saw the plant up close, as tall as me but with an almost imperceptible “cob” like a slender seedhead—a reminder that corn is, after all, just a big edible grass. The grain is celebrated in the many types of tamales on offer in the local markets and in the sweet corn- and cacao-based tejate drink made by the local Mixtec and Zapotec people. Agave hearts are fermented into mezcal and served in local bars like smallbatch bourbons, only with a bright-red rim of sal de gusano, a mixture of sea salt, ground dried worms, and chilies.

In the village of Teotitlán del Valle, Bulmaro Pérez Mendoza, a ninth-generation artisan known internationally for his colorful work, combines traditional techniques and modern influences.

Everywhere you turn—in the markets, outside the cathedrals, surrounding the zócalos—the anti-modern appeal of Oaxacan crafts is a potent testament to the artistic isolation of the surrounding villages. Each has its own specialty: Teotitlán del Valle and Santa Ana del Valle are known for their vivid rugs and textiles, Atzompa for its green-glazed pottery, Arrazola for its wood carving, San Agustín Etla for its handmade paper. In the city markets, women come down from the neighboring villages to buy and trade wares, dressed in embroidered and beribboned blouses and skirts
that reflect indigenous designs mixed with mid-fifteenth-century Aztec motifs and sixteenth-century Spanish styles. They do it not to impress you or to vie for a photo op; it’s just the way they dress. To see this sort of pre-colonial spectacle at its apex, visit at the end of July when the Guelaguetza Festival, which celebrates ancient sun and corn gods, draws crowds of Mixtec and Zapotecan people who, in their highly costumed finery, look like flocks of rare birds.

Beauty and utility meld easily if disconcertingly here. A seller of red cochineal-dyed fabrics or graphite-black Oaxaqueño pottery has no qualms
about setting up her display next to a street-side stall of such necessary (if less lovely) wares of daily life as tube socks and fake iPhone cases.
In the busy squares and under the shade of the guaje tree (which gives Oaxaca its name), life blends imperceptibly with the scent of incense and half-forgotten rituals that have been performed since pre-Columbian times. It turns out that Oaxaca, with all its pomp and ceremony, its color and magic, is not performing for visitors—but simply for itself.

STAY

Casa Oaxaca. This chicly renovated adobe and stone hotel is centered around a traditional Oaxacan courtyard with pomegranate trees and a tiled pool. Doubles from $183.

Hotel Azul de Oaxaca. The exquisitely spare spaces of this small hotel combine a sense of the past with modern design touches. Doubles from $180.

La Quinta Real Oaxaca. This former convent, the grande dame of Oaxaca City properties, overflows with gardens and old-world charm. Doubles from $150.

EAT & DRINK

Casa Crespo. Tucked away in a converted colonial house, this restaurant/cooking school sells a wide selection of chocolate (try it flavored with anise). At night, the upstairs terrace becomes a lively rooftop bar.

Casa Oaxaca. Alejandro Ruiz, the star chef at this hotel restaurant, serves up the perfect combination of tradition and innovation. Dine in the main room, with its beamed ceiling; on the rooftop; or in the chic little bar. Don’t miss the tamarind mezcalini alongside a dish of wild game when it’s in season, or the enfrijoladas, soft tortillas bathed in a smooth black bean sauce. Avocado leaves lend an underlying anise flavor.

El Cortijo. The two brothers who own this shop are part of a family that began selling mezcal here in 1951.

In Situ. Small, dark, and hip, this bar is for anyone Small, dark, and hip, this bar is for anyone serious about mezcal. Trust the bartender for recommendations, and take home a jar of pickled agave flowers.